Hardball
by Spectering
Summary: RomCom AU. Harvey and Donna have kids on opposing baseball teams and they just happen to cross paths over and over again in a nasty rivalry of whose kid is better.
1. Announcements

_Yay, another fic from me and it probably won't even be a little bit good_

* * *

"Oh come on!"

A voice carries from the bleachers on the other side of the field that Harvey finds very distracting during his son's playoff game. He's an avid supporter of his son's baseball, amongst other school activities, but he hasn't missed a single game in the five years his 11 year old son has been playing the sport. In all of the years he's been to these games, he's never met a woman so loud and yet she seems to know exactly what she's talking about. He's intrigued.

Harvey overhears a few of the dads talk about the loud woman across the way, screaming near profanities as they discuss her level of attractiveness compared to her level of annoyingness. His sunglasses block out the sunlight, but he squints anyway to catch a better glimpse of her. In just a few moments he has chalked up a few detailed about the mysterious redhead. She's wearing a dress falling somewhere between classy and slutty as the hem settles a little high on her thigh from her sitting position, she has expensive taste in fashion and isn't afraid to drop a pretty penny in that department, and that her son is the player behind home plate. The last deduction is the easiest by far.

Out of habit, Harvey makes his way down the bleachers as his son goes on deck to practice his swing before he's at bat. Jordan has been playing baseball for five years and Harvey has managed to crowd the fence for every single at bat the kid has ever had, but he takes note that he's never seen the woman screaming at every single pitch once in all of that time. Harvey shakes his head once, twice, three times at her and shifts his focus to his son.

"Come on, Jay," he says gently with a small clap, "You've got this."

Jordan, as usual, tosses an eye roll at his father over his shoulder but Harvey just smirks in return. For an eleven year old, Jordan sure is sassy but Harvey takes it in stride because he only gets every other weekend and game nights with the kid. Jordan's mother has little interest in baseball and hardly makes it to games claiming that she has _better things to do_ than to sit at a baseball game all afternoon despite the fact that her son is playing. That's what Harvey gets really for having a one night stand with some twenty-two year old wannabe actress slash waitress back in his associate days. He supposes the best he got out of the deal was a great kid and a legal contract with a pretty aspiring actress when she was sucked into daytime television.

Eleven years later, she's become a veteran in daytime television and Harvey's right on the cusp of working out a deal to get more time with Jordan. His deal, however, is complacent on rumors he's heard that she's in talks for a movie deal being shot in Rome somewhere. Regardless, she's missing out on all the best parts, in Harvey's opinion…or maybe he's the one missing out. He isn't even sure anymore.

He laces his fingers with the chains in the fence and leans against it, lips thinning out and jaw tensing as he watches on silently. There's so much chatter in the background that Harvey can't even distinguish who is speaking anymore. His gaze returns to the mysterious woman who has seemingly become distracted by her phone and he notes that she seems to be sitting alone without a partner in crime. Harvey's eyebrows furrow at that, not entirely understanding how a woman like her could fly solo. She is definitely the kind of woman who he would want to accompany him to a Yankees game.

Just then, Harvey hears the metal tip of the bat tap against home plate and he realizes that Jordan is up to bat. He ignores the redhead, or at least tries his damnedest to, and watches the pitcher shake his head once at the catcher before there's a swift nod and a fast ball to follow. Jordan swings the bat but misses the ball.

Harvey grips the fence tighter and exhales a slightly annoyed breath. He quickly reminds himself to remain calm and breathes a little deeper before he swallows. He bites his bottom lip for a moment.

"It's no big deal. Shake it off," he yells, "You've got the next one."

Harvey can't really pinpoint what happens next and he's still trying to wrap his head around it when his feet fly into action, making his way to the edge of the fence. He's never seen a woman with heels so tall move as quickly as him, but she's at the same point just as quickly as he is. Harvey can't tell exactly what happened or where the game went wrong, but Jordan is on the ground and a ball flew right into the mask of the kid behind the plate.

"Oh come on!" The redheaded mystery is screaming, "Open your eyes ump. It was a strike. Just because the kid is terrified to choke up on the bat doesn't mean it's a ball."

"Whoa," Harvey is interjecting quicker than he'd even thought he would, "careful there lady. My kid knows what he's doing. Unlike your kid. He doesn't even know when to swing."

"William knows when to swing," she replies aggressively.

"William," Harvey mocks with a laugh, "What kind of a name is William?"

"It's my father's name," she says then, tossing him a glare.

Harvey laughs there, "My father's name is Gordon but I wasn't stupid enough to name him that. That's like asking for him to get made fun of on the playground."

"Piss off," she counters.

"You've got a foul mouth, Lady," he snaps, "Quite an influence you are."

"And I suppose you're just the model citizen of tact and grace," she says sarcastically, "You look like an asshole."

"If it looks like a duck," he mutters.

"Dad!" "Mom!" The kids yell at the same time.

They reluctantly retreat back to their corners, glaring at each other from the space between them. It's only when his scowl turns into a smirk does he think he sees her wink at him. Of course their children would be way more civil than they would be for a pair of adults. He's well aware of just how incredibly sexy the rather infuriating woman remains to be.


	2. Top of the First

"Well, look who it is."

She hears the voice behind her and nearly falls flat on her ass at the realization that it belongs to none other than the man who managed to anger her enough in two minutes to bring her to this exact spot on a Saturday afternoon when she has far better things to do, considering. Donna, well, she isn't too pleased to be faced with the ever so astonishing opportunity to come face to face with this stranger, with this arrogant asshole who knows absolutely no bounds, and she be damned if he thinks that she doesn't have the slightest idea who he really is. She will not go down in infamy wherever he is concerned.

"This constitutes as stalking," she replies dryly.

He smirks then, that stupid smirk she can't stop thinking about as it ruthlessly mocks her clear into next week. His fingers wrap around the fence separating them as she releases her grip on the bat in her grasp. William takes about a half a step backwards like he just wants to get away from the train wreck waiting to happen.

"Come on, you gotta be kidding me, Red? You're trying to teach him how to hit the ball because of something I said? You couldn't hit a ball if it were standing still," he says.

Her eyebrows furrow, cheeks flesh, lips form a thin line, and he doesn't know how lucky he is that there is currently a nine foot tall chain link fence standing high between them because she can whole-heartedly picture herself ripping his face off. She smiles at that, tongue pressing against her teeth as she does, but he doesn't seem to exhibit the normal reaction. The normal man cowers, backs off a few feet, and bends at her very will. Not him, not the pitbull standing there with a smirk and a face lighting up like a Christmas tree, and she tries to pretend for a moment that everything about him isn't sending a chill straight up her spine, including that dastardly nickname she's heard her entire life.

She glares at him for just a moment longer to really drive her point home before she says, "I resent that."

"It's true," he counters with a tilt of his head, "Let's face it, your kid could use someone who knows what they're doing to teach him how to hit the ball. You certainly aren't doing a good job of it."

"There is absolutely nothing wrong with my abilities to teach him the game of baseball," she aggressively disagrees. He laughs, the noise grating on her every nerve, and he opens the gate to join her. She notes that he's breaking every single rule the batting cages have by coming in there with her. She's just seconds away from crying wolf. "What the hell are you doing?"

"For starters," he says, coming up behind her to help her hold the bat correctly, "Maybe try to not wear high heels. Second, your dress is a bit short, don't you think?"

"Excuse me," she shrieks, "But if you take this a step further you could have a lawsuit on your hands."

His face contorts in confusion and his voice nearly squeaks when he asks, "On what grounds?"

She turns, her body angling towards his as her chin tilts upwards to fall in line with his, and she gives him a long hard look. She obviously hasn't entirely thought this through, and any hesitation will give him the upper hand. "Unwanted scrutiny."

He laughs again, lightly shaking his head, and says, "I'm just saying, you look like you're asking for it."

She quirks an eyebrow and leans towards him a bit, voice lowering an octave just to see him squirm. She says, "I am asking for it."

His eyes narrow on her, jaw tensing as she feels him trying to decide just how truthful she's being. That's when he says, "Aren't you a little old to let yourself hang all out like that? Leave a little something to the imagination, will ya?"

"First of all, what I'm wearing is fine. It covers all of my assets with ease," she replies forcefully, "And honestly, who are you to tell me what I can and can't wear? I'm a grown woman and as long as I'm not flashing everyone in the park then I don't see a problem with my attire."

"I'm just saying, you have to bend your knees and lean forward, your dress rides up a bit when you do that but you do what you want," he replies without hesitation. She rocks on her heels for a brief moment.

"Thank you, I will," she barks.

He seethes, "Okay, fine." He takes a step back to get out of her swing space, but this time when the ball flies in her direction she doesn't even swing. He rolls his eyes and huffs. "What's the problem now?"

"You pointed out that my ass is bared for all to see and I've become a little self-conscious about what's going on down there," she snaps.

"Wow," he says, openly gaping for a moment.

His presence annoys her and she turns her attention to him, away from her task at hand. She snarls at him, dropping the tip of the bat to the concrete as she leans against it. "What are you even doing here?"

"I was on my way home from dropping my kid off at his mom's when I saw you in here making a fool of yourself," he says with a shrug.

"You are the most terrible man I have ever met in my entire life," she huffs, face contorting in disgust. His mouth drops open, seemingly offended by her words.

"Consult a judge on that one," he quips once he's finally recovered.

"You are mean and judgmental and you make me angrier than anyone that I have ever met and I don't even know you," she growls.

"Do you," he starts, but pauses and only briefly tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, "Do you want to?"

"No, I don't want to!" She yells, "Go away!"

"Damn, sorry," he replies, puffing out an annoyed breath. "I was just trying to be helpful."

"By being an asshole? Makes a whole lot of sense," she mutters.

He sighs. "Come on, I'm not that bad when you get to know me," he reasons.

"I know your type. You're bossy, arrogant and you think you're the smartest one in the room," she says with a roll of her eyes.

He smirks, "We're outside and there aren't any walls to make this a room."

"I would slap you if I hadn't just gotten my nails done," she replies dryly, her mouth twisting in disgust.

He laughs like he can't help it. "Wow, you're such a…" his laughter fades as he tries to pick the right word and she can tell he's trying really hard not to be the biggest asshole she's ever met in her whole life. He sighs then and he doesn't sound so sure of himself anymore, "…girl."

"Oh, great comeback," she says. Just then he steps forward and reaches for her, his fingers grazing over her elbow. She jumps back to put more space between them and, "What do you think you're-"

A ball hits her in the chest and it stops her from speaking any further rather abruptly. His hands secure around her arms as he lounges forward and attempts to keep her from getting hit by any more wild balls. Her chest burns and she can barely breathe because the wind has been knocked out of her. She drops the bat to the ground as he pushes her back until she hits the fence.

"What do you think you're trying to prove anyway? Out here swinging a bat like some miss know it all and all you've managed to do is put yourself in the line of fire," he says forcefully, loud enough that it rattles her and makes her tears well as it pulls her back to the reality of the pain from the ball. He huffs like he's annoyed at her for not being more careful. She doesn't know why he cares so much anyway. "Are you okay?"

"You have your way of parenting and I have mine," she slowly replies with a shrug.

He looks at her like she's a young, foolish girl and shakes his head, "Honey, this isn't parenting, it's competing."

"Don't call me honey, you don't know me," she says then, turning away from him and exiting the batting cages. She moves to the bench where William is sitting by her purse and she takes a seat. She expels an annoyed breath when he follows her.

"Are you okay?" He asks again, "That's going to leave a mark."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious, I wouldn't have known that without you pointing it out," she snaps. He leans back against the bench and sulks. He's being terribly nice and she's being tirelessly sarcastic.

Before she can say anything further he's on his feet again, "Let me get you some ice to put on it."

Her gaze follows him until she catches the way William is staring at her, a mixture between disgusted and amused. She huffs and starts rubbing her chest, crossing one knee of the other like she's really driving her point home. She knows she's fighting a losing battle.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" She finally asks.

"You're flirting with him. And, he was right. You did look stupid," William replies.

"Hey!" She says, mouth falling open and hanging agape. She falters for a moment before she points a harmless finger at him. "That isn't a very nice thing to say about your mother."

"Mom, you're wearing a dress," he says, "Grant's mom told him that any time a woman wears a dress when doing things like that it's because they're trying to get laid."

"Do you even know what that means?" She asks, eyes zeroing in on him.

"No," William says slowly; he shrugs and adds, "But it sounds like trouble if you ask me."

"I didn't ask you," she replies, expelling a puff of air. She mutters, "Sounds like Grant's mom needs a lesson on etiquette."

"And who's going to teach her?" The guy asks as he returns with an ice pack. He stops in front of her and smirk as he extends the ice pack to her. She does appreciate that he at least didn't try to apply the ice to the wound himself at least. "You?"

She nearly jumps out of her skin, "What the hell? Don't sneak up on someone like that."

She takes the proffered ice pack presses it against the spot on her chest where the baseball collided with her. At least it didn't completely throw her off of her game, but if her son thinks what is going on between her and this irritating man is flirtation then she has a lot to teach him before he goes out into the dating world. Like banter screams '_date me!_' or something.

"Look," he starts, "I didn't mean to come off so judgmental, I was just saying if you want someone to teach him how to hit the ball, I would more than happy to-"

"Excuse me," a shaky voice interjects the man mid-sentence. Donna is thrown as she looks at the face belonging to the voice and she is very startled that it belongs to none other than Harry. He smiles apologetically and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I don't intend to be rude and I sincerely apologize for cutting you off, but I thought you told me to meet you here at noon."

"Yes," Donna practically exclaims as she drops the ice pack to the bench and stands, "Harry, I'm so sorry. You're not interrupting. It seems I've been placed under citizen's arrest."

The stranger's eyebrows furrow and his lips form a thin line as he hold up has hands in a non-threatening manner. "No one is holding you captive here, and believe me, they'd return you after half an hour if someone even tried."

Donna's gaze narrows warningly at the man as Harry looks between them, and says, "Is this a date or something?"

"Ew, no!" Donna protests as the man starts laughing, "I don't even know this guy. He's just some prick with a kid on another baseball team who won't leave me alone."

At the end of her sentence, she shifts her gaze back to the stranger and raises her voice in hopes that he would get the point. He lips part as his gaze drops to the ground for just a brief moment before he looks her dead in the eye and says, "You think I'm a prick?"

"Listen, Harry," she says, ignoring his questioning, "He needs to be home by nine o'clock tomorrow night. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"You've got it," Harry says, acknowledging her as he takes William's bag from him.

She tells William to be sure and call her if he needs anything before she watches them walk away from her for just a minute or two. When she turns, she realizes that it's been oddly silent and the man who has been annoying her for the better part of an hour is gone. She catches his retreating figure, recognizing him by the black rolled up sleeves hugging his elbows and his khaki pants meeting his brown shoes, and she quickly grabs her purse to take off after him. A light jog in heels is nothing she could ever want but she manages to catch up to him. He sees her beside him and immediately rolls his eyes.

"Look, I'm sorry I was being a bitch," she says. His stride looks effortless yet she feels like she is walking so fast trying to keep up with him.

"You weren't a bitch," he says, even though she knows that isn't true, "But that was pretty ruthless."

"You just," she sighs and pulls her purse straps to the crease in her elbow, "You really rub me the wrong way and I look at your stupid face and I get so angry."

"Do you ever stop? Did I do something to offend you? Because you're really offending me right now."

She laughs. "Oh like Harvey Specter gets offended."

He smirks then, only halting in his speed for a nanosecond. She almost blinked and almost missed it. "So you do know who I am?"

"I know everything," she replies.

He tosses her a glance, "So my first impression of you is correct then."

"I hate you," she mumbles.

He stops then and turns to look at her. She notes that they are sized up perfectly, and he's only slightly looking down at her. He leans forward just a bit, almost unnoticeably, and his voice gets really low. "But you really wish I would kiss you."

"Don't you dare," she counters. He shrugs and continues walking. She can't help herself and she continues to follow his lead. "Do women really just fall at your feet?"

"Pretty much," he says, "After I dated Elizabeth Hurley, it pretty much became a cakewalk after that."

"Was that before or after her prime?" She baits.

He grins at her and says, "During." His hand touches a door handle and he pulls it open, gesturing for her to go inside. He gives a courteous nod to the man in the lobby and presses the button for the elevator to go up. "Besides, do women like that ever really leave their prime?"

"I guess not," she says, lips pursed in questioning. She steps onto the elevator when the doors slide open and he gets on behind her. He presses the button to the thirty-fifth floor and the car starts moving. Just then, she realizes what exactly is happening. "Wait, where are we going?"

"My apartment," he says, like it's completely obvious, "I kind of just assumed you knew that. You were following me so closely."

"You didn't invite me in," she says, like that's the best response she can come up with.

"Would you like to come in?" He asks to appease her.

The elevator doors slide open and she's met with a luxurious view of what can only be classified as the most well-kept bachelor pad she's ever seen. Despite her better judgment, she hears herself agreeing to come in and proceeds to step off of the elevator. She takes in the sight of his apartment, much larger than needed for a man who lives alone in her opinion, not that there's any trace of his son anywhere in the living room.

"Want a drink?" He asks as he passes her. His hand absently brushes against her shoulders as he does and she wonders if it's on purpose.

"No," she says with a light shake of her head, a tingle running down her spine, "I can't stay."

"Suit yourself," he says. She gets distracted for a few moments just looking around his apartment and is intrigued by the vaulted ceilings, glass walls to see outside from anywhere in the room, the sun casting on the wooden floors to make a beautiful glow that takes her attention away from the fact that she is standing in the middle of this man's apartment and she barely even knows his name. Her gaze shifts to his and clearly she looks awestruck because he just grins. "You like what you see? I'm rather fond of the view of the city myself, you should see the bedroom because the view is better, there's a deck that can contest anything else I've ever seen. You don't have to hold your handbag so close to your chest like that. That's going to be a nasty bruise tomorrow."

She laughs at him, at his rambling, at the way he's saying too many things at once like he's trying to keep from saying the wrong thing. "Do you always talk this much?"

His chin tilts downward as he releases a shaky breath. He steps towards her and lightly shakes his head. "Only when I'm nervous."

"Why are you nervous?" She asks, confused.

He shrugs and says, "It isn't every day that I have a sexy, mysterious redhead standing in the middle of my apartment. I don't even know your name. What if you're really a secret assassin? Like the Black Widow. She's a redhead, too."

"I don't know who that is," Donna says slowly.

"The Avengers? A Russian spy? Romantically linked to The Winter Soldier? Played by Scarlett Johannson? There's a whole franchise that she's in," he says.

His mouth hangs open like he's desperate for her to understand his humor. She smiles apologetically. "I'm guessing that's a comic book thing? I'm sorry. I'm more of a Star Trek fan."

He grins triumphantly, "Now that I can agree with."

"Miracles do happen," she says.

His eyebrows furrow, confusion taking over his features. "What?"

"We managed to agree on something," she tries again.

"Right," he says with a nod, "You sure you don't want a drink?"

"Are you that desperate?" She asks.

He shakes his head, "Hardly. I'm just being polite. Come look at the view from the deck. It's my second favorite thing in the world."

His hand presses against the small of her back and, contrary to her better judgment, she heads in the direction that he's guiding her. She tries to ignore the warmth of his fingers pressing against the material of her dress and keep the thought that he's probably pulled this tactic on countless women of the years at bay, but whatever he's doing is really working. She steps into his bedroom and is hit with the view like a lightning bolt. It's almost the most beautiful thing she's ever seen. She really does belong in New York City after all.

"You've got me in your bedroom, I hope you're happy now," she comments.

He laughs softly, "I'm ecstatic."

She doesn't even bother getting to the window before somehow drawn to him, before she stops him with a hand on his arm and her lips descending upon his. Contrary to what he may believe, she doesn't do this often, she doesn't often find herself in a stranger's home and kissing them. She partially expects him to push her away and call her crazy, but he doesn't. In fact, his fingers press harder against her back as he draws her closer, lips parting as she feels his tongue dart over her own. It goes too quick, her tongue barely touching his before he's pulling away.

"I thought you said you didn't want to kiss me," he gloats.

"Oh shit," she mutters, shocked at her own behavior. She takes a step back, his palm lingering against her waistline and coming to a rest on her hip with her movement, and touches her forehead with her fingertips in disbelief that she'd even done it in the first place. An eyebrow pops up on his as he surveys her and she can't help covering her mouth with her hand for a moment. She removes it then and says, "I'm so sorry. I can't believe I did that. I don't know what I was thinking. I really have to go."

She turns then but he follows her and says, "Red, it's fine. Really. I didn't mind at all. I wouldn't mind it happening again."

"I can't stay," she says. She turns and she'd backed across the room so far that she slams against the wall, her shoulder jarring against the door frame. She smiles at him sheepishly and rushes out even faster.


	3. Flyball

Harvey's driver, Ray, drops him off in front of a tall, lavish building that appears to contradict everything athletic that he knows. He represents many sports clients such as Michael Jordan, Derek Jeter, and Eli Manning, but he's never delved into the world of sports equipment before. With the change of management at P-Sports Equipment, all firms are making a move. Right before David Paulsen retired he fired the long time firm that had represented the company since their start date, and Harvey has only heard rumors as to why. So, Jessica decided that since sports is Harvey's area of expertise, it is his job to woo the new CEO into joining their firm. If he can do that, the firm will officially become Pearson Specter, fair and square.

Here Harvey stands on the sidewalk of a 65 story building labeled _P-Sports_ encased by a star and he suddenly gets it – masters of customization in sports equipment. The company is a major sponsor of the New York Yankees, it's only fair that he represent them since he already represents the captain of the baseball team. The moment he steps into the lobby, he's blinded by gold plated everything, a vintage look which is completely the opposite of his taste. The lobby is relatively quiet and he thinks at least there's three people manning the front desk, a man and two women, one of the women being a security guard. His footsteps echo in the tall, open spaced lobby because there's not much for any noises to be cushioned by, and he gives the small group a curt nod on his walk to the elevator.

When he steps off of the elevator and on to the sixty-fifth floor, Harvey catches a glimpse of the same mysterious red head he had encountered numerous times over the weekend. He's torn about what reaction he should have. Just a few days before, she was running away from him after she kissed him. He's spent all weekend trying to decipher what it all means, and he came to the conclusion that it was a waste of his time, worrying over her actions, or so he thought, until now when he's coming face to face with her.

He swallows a thick film of saliva that has gathered in the back of his throat and lightly knocks on the glass door to get her attention before proceeding into her office. She looks up from her computer, pen between her teeth, and she looks taken aback for a few moments. She takes the pen out from between her teeth and offers him a tight smile.

"Mister Specter," she greets, pushing herself to her feet, "Please come in."

"Donna Paulsen" he says, advancing further into her office. His eyebrows furrow in confusion as he finally reaches her desk and offers her a hand to shake. "It's nice to have a name to the face."

"All you had to do was ask," she says. She slips her hand into his. He's too distracted by the softness of her skin to remember to action make a hand shaking motion.

He slowly removes her hand from his grasp and says, "Before or after you kissed me?"

"Preferably before," she says without missing a beat.

"That was a stupid question," he muses with a nervous chuckle. She gestures to the chair beside his knee and his gaze follows where she's pointing for a brief moment before unbuttoning his jacket and taking a seat. "Let me take you to lunch. We can discuss a business plan."

"I can't," she replies, taking a seat in her own chair, "I'm very busy. It was a wonder I could pencil you in at all today."

"Busy like a bee," he mutters. She smiles tightly like she's trying to amuse him. "Over dinner?"

She smiles that same apologetic smile that has lingered in the forefronts of his mind for days. She lightly shakes her head, laughing, and drops her gaze from his. His eyes narrow as he observes her. She lifts her gaze back to his. "Mister Specter, you can't date me and do business with me."

"You don't have to be so formal," he replies there, "You can call me Harvey."

He watches her turn her chair ever so slightly and cross her right knee over her left. His resilient smirk only wavers at the corners of his mouth, which he hopes goes unnoticed. She smiles, tight-lipped and amused.

"Okay, Harvey," she says, enunciating dramatically, "Whatever is happening here is either business or pleasure. Not both."

"Trust me," Harvey says, a cocky smirk framing his face, "I am quite capable of doing both at the same time."

"I don't mix business with pleasure," she retorts. She leans back in her chair even more and absently taps her fingers on the tabletop. Harvey watches her movements then, intently gauging exactly what she's trying to tell him. He can't tell if she's challenging him to pursue both. He can't read her one bit. She leans forward then, his eyes trailing to her slightly exposed cleavage, and says, "I'll tell you what. I'll give you one dinner date and one lunch proposal to decide which you want."

"What are you afraid of, Red?" He challenges, sitting on the edge of his seat. "My firm pleases your business. I pleasure you. It's my job."

"So you try to sleep with all of your clients?" She counters, eyebrow quirked.

"Despite the things that are said about me, my moral standards typically surpass these situations," he admits. He's practically salivating at the exposure of her thigh and he doesn't for a second realize that he isn't really thinking clearly. He swallows then, eyes trailing the length of her frame again before he ultimately decides to lay it all out there. "Look, Donna," he pauses then as she physically reacts to her name coming out of his mouth, her hips shifting in her seat in the slightest, enough for him to know that if he weren't looking for it then he wouldn't see it, "I'm saying here that I am open to pursuing this opportunity to explore whatever that thing is that I feel between us, I know you feel it, too, but also that you'd be an important asset to my firm, that your company is a top priority for me."

"And I'm saying," she starts firmly, "that I don't date people I work with. So that deal I offered you, take it or leave it."

He sighs then, annoyed at her determination yet impressed by her at the same time, and lifts his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. He supposes he is showing her his hand and by laying all of his cards out on the table he isn't doing anything. He drops his hand, the sound of it slapping against his knee echoing in his ears, and stands there. He nods at her once, firmly, and offers her a tight smile.

"I'll have my secretary call yours to set up that lunch meeting," he says. He's not sure where to go from here. He's standing in her office, looking her in the eye, and isn't quite sure what he's supposed to say to her. Instead, he just stands there for a few moments too long looking like a fool in the middle of her lavish office. "I apologize for being presumptuous. I shouldn't have thought that you're attracted to me just because you kissed me."

"I am attracted to you, Harvey, but that doesn't mean I want to jump into bed with you," she counters.

"You couldn't get away from me fast enough," he muses, his hands sneaking into his pockets to keep his nervous ticks at bay. He laughs quietly. He says, "I have to admit, that's the first time that's ever happened to me."

"Your reputation precedes you," she agrees, "I've heard all about your sexcapades."

"It's more complicated than that. You don't know me as well as you think you know me," he says in response.

She quirks an eyebrow then, slightly amused it seems, and stands. She says, "Dinner tomorrow night, seven pm sharp. Don't be late." His forced smile easily shifts into a real one. She pushes the intercom button on her telephone and, after the loud beep, says, "Mike, get Mister Specter my address on his way out."

"I should probably get going," he says then, lifting his hand from his pocket and gesturing behind him with his thumb.

"Yeah," she absently agrees. Their gazes lock. He feels his heart beat in his throat. He swallows the lump and chalks it up to coincidence. This has never happened to him before. She smiles widely and he likes the way it sits on her mouth. "Have a good day, Mister Specter."

He thinks it sounds like she's singing his name. A genuine smile spreads across his features. "You as well, Miss Paulsen."


End file.
